


Murderer? I Hardly Knew 'Er!

by xXScreenSaverXx



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Everyone is Dead, First Meetings, He's a sarcastic cinnamon roll, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, Will Graham is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXScreenSaverXx/pseuds/xXScreenSaverXx
Summary: This is the third body he’s found lying on his porch in Wolf Trap, and Will was Done.Sure, the bodies never usually lined up to create a clear and succinct message of intent, and that was fine. But whoever killed this man hadn’t bothered with all of that, oh no – not this time. Which was how he came to find himself standing over a body that – while he was fairly sure it was the work of the Chesapeake Ripper – Will was almost 90% sure he couldn’t report. Firstly, because of the evidence buried in his yard.Secondly: The ‘Hi :)’ carved crudely into the victim’s chest. Will sighed, and trudged back inside, heading to his yellowing coffee maker. It was too early for this.Hannibal leaves his bodies lying around and Will is the unfortunate soul who deals with them.





	Murderer? I Hardly Knew 'Er!

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction that I'll admit to (We've all made mistakes at age twelve, right?), so please don't castrate me! I don't have the self esteem for that. Ignoring the fact that I don't have any to begin with, that doesn't matter. Have fun, and I'm so sorry I wrote this! <3 Also, fuck italics! It's not my fault this looks and reads like shit I sweaaarrrr.

The first time it happened, his dogs had dutifully alerted him. Unfortunately, the alerted him not when the body got there, but when it started to attract wildlife. For Will, who never set foot out of the house if it was avoidable, this was probably for the best. Better found only a day late, than… However long it would take him to get his shit together and head out to see Alana on one of their weekly sessions.  
For a second, he’d mulled over the idea of reporting the incident to Jack, before promptly discarding it. The killing fit no demographic he’d seen recently, and to be honest… He couldn’t be bothered. Sure, he’d never had any illusions over just how morally grey he’d become, but just staring at the previously handsome man’s blank features, he became more and more disenchanted with the idea of going to the CIA. So, he did what any reasonable mid-thirty-year-old profiler would do, and grabbed the shovel. 

In his time, Will had undug more graves that actually dug them, he mused, running a sweaty palm through his curls on the rare occasion he decided to take a break. He hadn’t given the killers enough credit, honestly. After a matter of hours, he was covered in dirt and grime, panting softly to himself as he lowered the stranger into his – admittedly – shallow grave. Come on, cut him some slack. He may be an introvert, but Will had stuff to do that day!

The second victim was one of someone he’d met previously, in passing. He didn’t remember much about the woman, other than her shrill laugh and far-too-strong perfume. Still, he couldn’t help but feel faintly bad about it all. 

In all honesty, after almost breaking his back digging the other man’s grave, he hadn’t given the killing too much though. Probably bad practice, he sighed as Winston took it upon himself to tug sharply at the woman’s blonde locks. Two weeks had passed and, with no further activity on the killers part, Will had assumed that that would be the last of it. Apparently not.

This one, however, came with an accessory in the shape of a bunch of slowly wilting flowers shoved down her throat. The violet chrysanthemums, he’d noted, had looked rather sad. They ‘d looked much healthier once they’d been carefully placed in a vase on his dining table, well out of the reach of his army of dogs. The women, their previous owner, found her home in Will’s back yard.   
This is the third body he’s found lying on his porch in Wolf Trap, and Will was Done. 

Sure, the bodies never usually lined up to create a clear and succinct message of intent, and that was fine. But whoever killed this man hadn’t bothered with all of that, oh no – not this time. Which was how he came to find himself standing over a body that – while he was fairly sure it was the work of the Chesapeake Ripper – Will was almost 90% sure he couldn’t report. Firstly, because of the evidence buried in his yard.

Secondly: The ‘Hi :)’ carved crudely into the victim’s chest. Will sighed, and trudged back inside, heading to his yellowing coffee maker. It was too early for this.  
After he’d fed the dogs – Charlie had been insistent that she be fed on time, lest Will unthinkingly forget – and fetched himself a second cup of the bitter elixir of life, he wound a scarf around his neck and regretfully wandered back outside.

He stood there for a second, glaring down at the body and shoving it slightly with the tip of his boot, as if it would get up and apologise for ruining his morning. No such luck. The brunette detective groaned inwardly, silently cursing his ‘No hard liquor before 12’O’clock’ rule. He quickly scanned the landscape and, upon seeing nothing, sighed again.

“Oh, come on!” He muttered to himself as he grabbed the victim’s arms and started dragging him towards the small hill he’d found had much easier soil to dig. “Fucking assholes, letting me do their dirty work…” He cursed, whistling for any furry haired, four-legged companion that would return his call. If he was going to be digging yet another grave, he wasn’t doing it without emotional support.  
He didn’t talk to Winston about the message the killer had left, nor to Charlie. Or to nay of his dogs, for that matter. Put plainly, he hadn’t really cared. What was that he’d said before about moral ambiguity, again?

Only a few days later, four weeks since the first body, Will received his well-dreaded phone call from Dr. Alana Bloom. He’d taken to calling her as such, still vaguely annoyed about the fact she was forcing him to let her play psychiatrist. Perhaps there had one been a time that he’d considered them friends, perhaps even more. But with Uncle Jack’s intervention, and the fact that their twice weekly sessions had left him feeling cold and bitter towards her, those days seemed far in the past.

He didn’t bring up the bodies.

That night, when he stumbled home to his dogs at a goddamn reasonable hour – what reason did he have to stay out? – he’d collapsed onto his poorly made bed, pulled up his duck egg blue covers, and lain, staring blankly, at the ceiling. Rationally, some part of his brain protested weakly at the three bodies buried directly under the patch of grass that Roscoe most like to do her, ahem - business. Another part yelled vehemently at the fact that he was fairly certain that he was covering for the Chesapeake Ripper in some way. And Will was sure that these bodies belonged to the Ripper, even if all he had to operate on was a hunch. Call it intuition. The man got to sleep surprisingly quickly. 

He’d been expecting it, honestly. It had been a week since he’d so much as heard a peep from his faithful dogs during the night, even if their track record in reporting suspicious figures was significantly flawed. So when he woke to a furious howling and baying, he was out of bed in an instant. Jumping past his slippers (because he was a man of comfort, damnit, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice his cosiness for something as mundane as style) he quietly padded to the kitchen, bent slightly in an honestly pathetic attempt at stealth. 

Roscoe raced past him as he reached out onto the counter to grab a cooking knife, followed quickly by Lucy. He crept behind them, following them to the front door before, rather unintelligently, if he did say so himself, slamming it open.

The man stood up and blinked. Will blinked back. “That’s not my body,” he said, blankly. The man laughed, and shook his head.  
“No, that’s my body,” he supplied. Will’s sleep addled brain was racing to catch up with the discovery of this really very handso- Oh wow, he was pretty. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, before freezing suddenly.

“You’re the murderer,” he choked out, eyes widening.

“Murderer?” The stranger replied. “I hardly knew her!”

Will sighed, and squinted at the figure, unimpressed. “I’m not digging another fucking grave,” he warned, holding up the knife and hoping he looked threatening to pull it off. Evidently, by the way the man let out a low chuckle, he’d failed. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Sweetheart,” the man reasoned, stepping over the figure he’d dropped at Will’s appearance and stepping into the house. 

“Wh- Hey!” Will yelled, glaring at the man. Who, very smugly, shrugged – fucking shrugged – and continued in. “You’re the Chesapeake Ripper!” He accused. “I don’t want you in my house! You’ll stain the carpets with your blood!”

The man sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned back. “I’ll pay for the cleaning, then,” he reasoned. 

“Who the hell even are you?” Will yelled, dropping the knife to his side in favour of waving his other arm about like a lunatic. 

Mr. Tall, Handsome, and Douchebag just smiled serenely. “Hannibal Lector. A pleasure to meet you,” he chirped, and went back to stroking Charlie, the traitor. Will sighed, dropping the knife back onto a cabinet somewhere to his left.

“I swear to God, if you have the cops on you, I’ll never forgive you,” he warned, to which the man – Hannibal - sighed pityingly. 

“Don’t worry, Little One. I’m just here to lie low for a while.” Will ignored the blatant assumption that here was free to be taken as a safehouse, and went for the second most pressing thing on his mind.

“What do I have to do?” he asked, gesticulating wildly. Hannibal looked at his like he was an idiot.

“Buy groceries, obviously.”

Will sighed. 

“Make me dig any more graves, and I’ll end you,” he hissed, before turning around and stomping back to bed.  
In the course of around a month, he’d gained three bodies and a roommate. He was so Done.


End file.
